


I'd Rather Dance Than Talk With You

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll make you feel better after school,” Brittany whispers, running warm palms up and down Santana’s shins and smiling softly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Rather Dance Than Talk With You

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 2x01.

Santana grimaces as she sits down in the choir room and her back protests the movement, shooting pain up her spine.

It hurts. Her back, her knees and her arms up near the shoulder and down near the wrist. They all hurt. Her head feels like it’s pounding and she’s trying to resist tears; big, huge, shoulder shaking, sobs that she’s dying to let out. She wants to get up and leave school, go home and curl up in bed for about forty-five hours.

She gets nauseated just looking at Quinn and any semblance of self-worth she might have gained over the summer is leaking out of her the longer she sits here. Brittany finishes telling whatever it is she  _needed_  to say to Mike and bounces through the chairs to come sit at Santana’s side, smiling. It annoys Santana instantly. 

Clenching her left hand, she tries to ignore the quick flash of pain, her palm still hot from when it connected with Quinn’s face. She studies the nails of her right hand and taps her foot around, trying to ignore everything else and hope that the rest of the day passes by quickly so she can go home and eat her feelings.

Before she can lift her head up and ask Brittany if she wants to get smoothies after Glee, there’s a small cloth doll dressed like a Cheerio shoved in front of her face and waved around.

“What is that?” Santana asks in curious distaste as Brittany laughs softly next to her, the legs of her chair squeaking against the floor as Brittany slides closer to Santana. 

“It’s mini me,” Brittany answers. “Can’t you tell?” 

“Yeah, totally,” Santana deadpans. “Can you get it out of my face?” 

Brittany retracts the doll and slides it under her chair, settling her hands in her lap and smiling at Santana. She tries not to take notice, but Brittany’s pretty unrelenting when it comes to staring contests so Santana knows that focusing on tile floor isn’t going to make Brittany stop looking at her. 

“Can I help you?” Santana asks, shifting in her chair to face her friend.

Brittany’s gaze shifts downward and Santana rolls her eyes when she realizes why. It’s what everyone else has been staring at all day anyway so why not Brittany too? She sighs and waits for Brittany to snap out of it, but instead her friend lifts her hand up and points a finger at Santana’s chest, moving it forward slowly.

Santana darts her hand out to swat Brittany’s away as she lets out an aggrieved sigh. “Britt,” she warns. 

“What?” Brittany shrugs, taking her finger back but still flicking her gaze between Santana’s eyes and her chest. “I just want to touch them.”

“Touch your own,” Santana seethes, keeping her voice down.

Brittany pokes at her own chest, pouting. “That’s not as fun.”

“That’s not my problem,” she snaps.

Brittany lifts her head up, still pouting as she observes Santana and picks at the fabric of her red Cheerios skirt. Santana sighs and averts her eyes, choosing to focus on whatever the hell Kurt and Mike are doing on the side of the room a few chairs over.

Suddenly, her legs are being lifted in the air, and her body is nearly pulled out of the chair as Brittany settles Santana’s calves over her lap and pulls Santana’s chair closer. She squeaks in surprise and gears up to chew Brittany out for almost adding another future bruise to the long list of body parts that will be purple in the morning, but then Brittany is running strong fingers up her leg and Santana has to bite back a moan of pleasure instead.

“God,” she sighs, her eyes fluttering closed as Brittany works her aching muscles.

“Your knees hurt?” Brittany asks, tracing one of her nails over the surface in question.

Santana shrugs and shifts a little closer to Brittany so her arm can reach across the space between them to the other girl’s back.

“I’ll make you feel better after school,” Brittany whispers, running warm palms up and down Santana’s shins and smiling softly.

Santana laughs and runs her fingers over the fabric of Brittany’s uniform. “I’m fine,” she lies, smiling a little and feeling better than she had when she was at the bottom of the pyramid with a bony knee digging into her back.

“You should let Quinn touch your boobs,” Brittany whispers.

Santana jerks back a little and lifts her hand up to the side in question. “Ew.”

“I’m just saying,” Brittany shrugs, her palms running smoothly down Santana’s shin. “Throwing her on the floor didn’t work...”

Santana digs her nails into the palm of her left hand and changes the subject. “You want to get smoothies later?”

“Can Brittany come?” Brittany asks, tilting her head to the side and running her thumbs down the side of Santana’s leg.

“What?” Santana asks, confused. 

“Brittany,” she repeats, kicking one foot under her chair to tap against the doll stored there.

Santana rolls her eyes. “Sure, babe. Brittany can come.”

“Cool,” Brittany breathes. “You should get one too.”

“One what?” She stretches a foot out and traces an invisible circle in the air with the toe of her shoe.

“A clone doll,” Brittany says, rolling her shoulders back and forth a little. Santana puts her palm back against Brittany’s shoulder blade and runs her thumb over the muscle there.

“I think I’m good,” Santana says, laughing a little and twirling the ends of Brittany’s ponytail around in her fingers.

Brittany shrugs and concentrates on Santana’s tan legs, her hands still running up and down as she hums softly under her breath. “I think I’m going to get Mango Explosion,” she says after awhile, her eyes running up Santana’s body.

“What?” Santana asks, propping her elbow on the back of her chair and leaning her head against her fist.

“My smoothie,” Brittany says, her eyes flickering downward again. “Mango explosion.”

Santana nods slowly. “That’s super exciting,” she mocks in a montone voice. “Thanks for sharing.”

Brittany nods in response, pursing her lips and stilling her hands for a moment. Santana sees the move before it even happens.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warns, watching one of Brittany’s hands twitch against Santana’s knees.

Pouting, Brittany resumes her little massage and huffs. “What’s the point of getting new boobs if I can’t touch them?”

“You can touch them all you want later,” Santana sighs, so sick of talking about her chest today. She watches Kurt and Mike spin in circles next to a laughing Tina and rolls her eyes at the display.

“It’s funner if it’s in school,” Brittany whispers, tapping her fingers up and down Santana’s left shin like she’s playing a piano.

“That’s not a word,” Santana says, readjusting her skirt with her right hand.

“That's is too a word,” Brittany replies, tilting her head to the side, confused.

“No, funner,” Santana clarifies.

“What’s no funner?” Brittany kicks her legs out and the door to the choir room opens as Rachel strides in.

“Never mind,” she answers, laughing a little.

Rachel claps her hands from her position in front of the group and opens her mouth to speak so Santana rolls her eyes, faces the back wall and does her best not to pay attention to it at all.

\--

They get smoothies after practice, a Mango Explosion for Brittany and a Banana Berry for her doll - both of which Santana has to pay for because Brittany lost her wallet for the fourth time this week. She sucks down her own Peach Pleasure smoothie as they drive back to Santana’s house and Brittany fiddles with the dials on the car stereo, eternally unsatisfied with every song that starts to play.

She already feels kind of better despite the ache in her shoulder blades and arms that still linger and the heat right behind her eyes that flares up every time she relives the moment Coach Sylvester demoted her.

The house is empty, as it almost always is, and Brittany follows behind Santana, doll snuggled to her chest and two half-empty smoothies in her hands, as they climb the stairs to Santana’s bedroom. She sets her smoothie down on her desk when they get there and goes straight to her closet.

“I’m changing out of this thing,” she comments over her shoulder. Brittany is settled on the bed, her doll on her chest as she alternates between two straws. “You want something?”

Brittany grins at her and nods, squirming into the pillows on Santana’s bed.

Five minutes later, Santana is much more comfortable out of the constant reminder of her terrible day and dressed in a pair of sweats and a thin tank top that clings to her torso. Brittany finally relinquishes her smoothies to slip on something similar, Santana’s Cheerios sweatpants and a matching shirt.

Sighing, Santana flops back onto the bed and stares at her ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark moon and stars that she and Brittany put up there when they were nine are just barely noticeable against the off white ceiling. The bed dips and Brittany settles in next to her, an arm reaching across the bed to set the Brittany doll on Santana’s chest.

She groans and pushes the doll away. “Can you get that off the bed?”

“Why?” Brittany pouts, scooting over so their bodies are touching and Brittany’s head is near Santana’s shoulder.

“I don’t want that thing watching us while we have sex.”

“We’re not having sex right now,” Brittany whispers, moving the doll to the floor nonetheless.

“Well we’re going to, right?” Santana asks, turning her head to the side and arching an eyebrow at Brittany. Her stomach sinks a little at the small shred of doubt that suddenly spikes through her. This year was supposed to be ten times better than last. She’d be top dog in school, head cheerleader, and there wouldn’t be a soul alive that could resist her. That’s how it’s supposed to be. She’s already lost all the components of that dream today; she doesn’t think she’ll be able to handle losing the last one. If Brittany doesn’t want her...

“Sure,” Brittany shrugs, propping up on her elbow. “I can touch your new boobs now?”

Santana laughs at Brittany’s unrepentant grin and has to hold her hands on her stomach as the sound bursts out of her, Brittany’s laughter chiming in after a few beats. She’s laughing so hard she doesn’t realize she’s started crying until Brittany’s rolling on top of her and swiping her thumbs under Santana’s eyes.

“Nope, not allowed,” Brittany warns, shaking her head slowly. “Stop it.”

Santana laughs, choking a little against tears, and she reaches up to swat Brittany’s hands away and wipe her own against her eyes. “Shut up.”

“This room is a cry free zone,” Brittany whispers, her stomach flush against Santana’s.

“This is  _my_  room,” Santana argues, taking a deep breath.

“You made the rule,” Brittany reminds her. “When we were five and I fell off the bed.”

“That was a rule for  _you_ ,” Santana laughs, running her finger under eye one more time. “Not for me.”

Brittany purses her lips and sets her hand on Santana’s hip, running her palm upward under the thin tank top. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Santana gasps, tears forgotten as Brittany’s palm warms the skin of her abdomen. “I think I’m a pretty good example of that.”

Brittany hums, shifting down the bed to let her mouth follow behind her palm, perfect white teeth scraping down the muscles of Santana’s stomach. Her hand goes to Brittany’s head, pulling at the elastic keeping her hair together until it’s sliding off and blonde locks are spreading out under Santana’s fingers.

“What do you like about me?” Santana asks in a whisper, her fingers twisted around Brittany’s hair. Brittany stills, her mouth hovering over Santana’s skin and her palm settled between Santana’s breasts under the white material of her tank top.

“What? Brittany moves back upward so she’s propped above Santana’s face, her hand unmoving.

Santana bites her lip against the tears again and shakes her head. “Never mind.”

Brittany’s brows come together and her eyes are a sad blue, the skin around them wrinkling in worry. Then her expression clears and the hand between Santana’s breasts slides down to rest against Santana’s stomach, Brittany’s pinkie running along the top of Santana’s sweats.

“You’re hot,” Brittany says, smiling.

Santana rolls her eyes and sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

Brittany presses her lips against Santana’s neck, under her jaw. “You’re a good dancer.” Another kiss down her neck. “I like your voice.”

Letting out a long exhale, Santana brings her hand up to Brittany’s back, under her grey t-shirt, and splaying there over Brittany’s spine. She opens her mouth to tell Brittany it’s fine and that she was just being stupid, but the blonde beats her to the punch.

“You’re funny,” Brittany continues, mumbling the words against Santana’s collarbone. “And you buy my doll smoothies and you let me play with your hair during math class.”

Santana laughs, but the words break in her throat when Brittany slips a hand down Santana’s sweatpants. She clenches her fingers a little against Brittany’s back and cants her hips upward, seeking contact.

“You’re pretty much the best,” Brittany whispers, lifting her head up to press a kiss to Santana’s lips. She can’t help but smile against Brittany’s lips, warmth coiling in her stomach for a slew of varying reasons and she finally lets herself relax against Brittany’s touch, not thinking about anything other than the orgasm working its way slowly through her.

When she comes, almost lazily, she can feel Brittany’s lips stretch into a grin against Santana’s mouth and lassitude sinks into the aching muscles at her back and legs. Her mouth feels thick and sleep is settling behind her eyes instead of tears so she tugs Brittany closer to her and sighs loudly, feeling entirely satisfied.

But then, before Santana can decide if it’d be rude to nod off without returning the favor, Brittany shoots up off her body and scrambles off the bed before Santana can even protest.

She squints at her friend across the room, standing in front of Santana’s iPod dock and twirling her finger over it, the clicks audible from Santana's perch on the bed. “What are you doing?”

Brittany seems to find what she’s looking for and presses her finger down, a low bass beat booming out of the speakers as she spins to face Santana and holds her hand out with a smile. “Dancing!”

“What?” Santana shifts up against the headboard and looks at Brittany like she’s crazy to suggest such a thing right now. In fact, Santana’s pretty sure that if she tries to stand at the moment, her legs will probably fail to hold her upright.

“Come on,” Brittany entreats, curing her fingers inward to get Santana off the bed.

She looks around the room as if it will help her understand why Brittany wants to dance right now instead of sleep. “Can’t we just take a nap?”

Brittany laughs and shakes her head, bouncing on the balls of her feet a little bit. “Nope, we have to dance.” The blonde walks to the bed and grabs Santana by the arm, pulling her towards the edge of the bed until Santana’s forced to get up and follow before she face-plants on the carpet.

“Why?” Santana asks, grateful she’s able to stand, but feeling like maybe she should go change her pants before they do this. She squirms a little as she watches Brittany laugh at her.

“It’s the three S’s to making you feel better,” Brittany argues. “It’s  _s_  because that’s how you spell Santana.”

“Uhhh, what?” Santana’s eyebrows shoot up as Brittany remains undeterred and executes a small dance move in sync with the beat of the music. 

A long finger appears in front of Santana’s face and she almost goes cross eyed focusing on it. “One,” Brittany says. “Smoothies. Two,” another finger joins the first. “Sex.”

Santana laughs and waits to hear the last one. The third finger rises and Brittany bites her lip for a second. “Three,” she starts, her gaze rising to the ceiling in thought. “Ssssss...”

“Dancing starts with a d,” Santana deadpans.

Brittany scowls at her before her face lights up. “Samba!” She exclaims.

“This isn’t samba music,” Santana laughs, watching Brittany dance around her with enthusiasm.

“Don’t be a party pooper,” Brittany orders, dancing to the side of the bed to pick up her discarded doll. “At least Brittany will dance with me,” she says to the doll. “Won’t you?”

Santana releases an exaggerated sigh and finally gives in. “Fine, okay. Put the creepy doll down, I’ll dance with you.”

“Don’t call her creepy,” Brittany orders with a smile, her finger pointed in warning towards Santana. Santana rolls her eyes, which makes Brittany laugh as she chucks the doll onto the bed and bounds back over in front of Santana.

“Why are we even friends?” Santana jokes.

Brittany’s nose scrunches up adorably and she pecks Santana on the lips. “Because you’re the best,” she whispers. “Now, come on,” she continues, pulling Santana’s arms and manhandling her body into different dance moves. “Dance it out.”

Laughing loudly, Santana lets herself get tossed around and even though she knows when she goes to school tomorrow nothing will be better, in that moment, dancing and singing with Brittany in her bedroom, she doesn’t feel anything but immeasurable happiness.


End file.
